Sheer
by Estoma
Summary: "Marvel," she said softly, "you can look now."


**Author's note: Yes, this might look familiar. Previously found in 'Outside the Box', with a few updates. **

It was late. Outside the tribute tower though, the party continued; the Capitol citizens were so full of stimulants that they would dance and drink and indulge in pleasures until dawn. When the sun rose, its light unsuitable for their debauched pleasures, they would move their revelry inside to rooms darkened to their liking.

Inside the tribute tower the party could only be heard as a muted rumble. It did not sound anything like the cities at night back in District 1. Because the items they made were valued and the workers made a good living, the factories were allowed to close at night, so it was very quiet when the sun set.

Glimmer made her way to her room and stepped inside. The light turned on automatically, highlighting the lavish rugs and the bed that was large enough for three, or four adults. Some of the furniture was made in District 1, using lumber from 7 and plastics from 3. The bed must have been made from several forest giants, made with four posts and a canopy, in the style of a long forgotten age. She crossed to the wardrobe, taking small steps. Her gown was tight around the knees and ankles. It clung. It was the sort of dress that prevented a woman from running or fighting back. Glimmer had seen several women in the Capitol audience wearing similar designs.

The wardrobe was a room in itself. Shelves and racks lined the walls, reaching as high as Glimmer's eye level. Garments filled every space, from evening gowns to night attire. That was what she crossed to. There was a row of nightgowns hanging at eye level, and Glimmer took out the first. Black satin, barely long enough to cover her arse. She took another; blood red, laced at the front to bare most of her chest. The hanger rattled as she tossed it to the ground. Three more followed. Bronze and black, made all of lace. Blue to match her eyes, barely more than a corset. Emerald green, covering less than a swimsuit. They made a bright pile on the floor. But the last one was the worst. It was of the same sheer fabric as her dress. There was no point wearing it.

She raised her hand to knock on Marvel's door. From his room came a suspicious exclamation. It took him several moments to get to the door.

"Glimmer," he said, slightly breathless, "I was in bed."

She flicked her eyes up and down. The waistband of his boxer shorts was all twisted as if it had been pulled up in haste. "Can I come in?"

Marvel stepped back to allow her in. Her shoulder brushed his and he felt heat creeping across his face. He kept his eyes on her face, not lower, not where Caesar Flickerman stared through her interview. Glimmer did not notice; she was already past, and she went to the wardrobe.

"Can I help you?" Marvel asked.

She didn't answer. Her hands ran over suits hung in a row like headless ghosts. She pushed them aside, and the coat hangers screeched on the rack. She turned.

"Can I borrow this?" It was a plain grey shirt, long enough to fall halfway down her thighs.

"Sure," Marvel said, his voice pitched higher at the end to carry his question.

Glimmer ran the fabric over her hands. She sucked her bottom lip, then stopped quickly; Cashmere said it was an ugly habit. Her eyes were down on the ground. "It's just, all my clothes are too tight, or too see-through."

There was a mirror that ran along one wall of the room. Glimmer stood in front of it. A girl looked back at her; golden hair piled atop her head, the darkening of her nipples showing through her dress.

"Do you mind?" she snapped.

"Sorry," Marvel turned his face to the wall.

Glimmer sucked her lip again; she had not meant to sound so harsh. She could see Marvel in the mirror with his head bowed.

As she bent to undo the strap of her gold heel, the dress tore. It made a soft sound, like a sigh, and Glimmer could breathe easier. Her hand reached around to find the rent at her mid back. She let her fingers explore the tear in the soft material. It was not made for real life and it was a sharp reminder that the luxury of the Capitol would soon be a memory. Her real life would begin as tomorrow's countdown ended.

At the soft rustling of Glimmer's dress, Marvel forced his eyes down. He wound the fingers of his left hand with his right and bent them back until they hurt and the blood left them. On stage in her interview, she spoke of how many ways she could kill a person; knife, spear, sword, while the audience slavered over her pert breasts. Marvel tried not to look at her that way, but now he had to dig his thumbnails into his index fingers, leaving deep scores, to distract himself from the throb in this groin.

Glimmer gave a savage tug and the material ripped further. She didn't stop until the dress was hanging in ribbons from its straps. Now light strips hung around her body; they tickled her skin. She shrugged them off and bent to pick up the shirt from the floor. In the mirror, she saw Marvel shift his feet, but he did not turn. The shirt dropped from her hand and joined the remnants of the dress on the floor.

"Marvel," she said softly, "you can look now."


End file.
